


I Love You

by ebbj9891



Series: In Quest Of Something [5]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Series, Romance, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 11:26:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2620082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebbj9891/pseuds/ebbj9891
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian never thought those words could belong to him, until suddenly, they did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Love You

The first time he says it, there's nothing to do but say it. The words rise up within him and fall from his mouth with ease, which surprises Brian, because there's nothing easy about any of this. They're surrounded by chaos and anguish and death. He says it once, softly, whispering it in Justin's ear, and it frees him. He chases that feeling. Justin is trembling against him. When they pull apart, he looks at Brian with this desperate sense of wonder. So he says it again and watches Justin's smile blossom. It's this slight yet radiant spill of light in a landscape plagued by darkness. Brian lives and breathes that smile, and he lives and breathes those words.

The next few times are simple yet surreal. The words come naturally, and why shouldn't they? They're getting married. They are  _enfianced._ And yet, there's something strange about it. An edge of awareness lingers within Brian, reminding him that this is not something he says. These three words don't belong to him. He continues to say it, because isn't that what he's supposed to do? 

Apparently not. Their engagement ends. Justin leaves. Brian expects the words to vanish along with him and bids them a very bitter farewell, preparing himself for that to be that. But then, the very next day, his phone rings. He answers it and listens, spellbound, as Justin sings New York's praises. Brian lies alone in the loft, thinking that he finally has a crystal clear understanding of what 'bittersweet' means. He might be miserable, but Justin is happy. He is just about ready to resign himself to this mixed fate, when Justin asks him to visit. Brian can hear it ripe in his voice: the need, the want, the longing... the love. The words make a powerful resurgence, screaming in his mind. So he says it, and Justin says it back, and there's nothing strange about it. It's simply wonderful: comfort, relief, and togetherness, all rolled into three little words.

The words bridge the gap. They see him through months of loneliness and keep him and Justin bound to each other, which is no simple feat with hundreds of miles stretching painfully between them. Brian grows addicted to saying the words, to hearing them said back to him, to feeling their glow. They're three miniscule words, words he never paid much mind to, and yet they suddenly mean so much. A smile shines in Justin's voice every time he says them, or says them back. Brian closes his eyes and remembers that slight spill of light. It bridges the gap. It gets him through. It gets them  _both_ through.

The strangeness returns once, and once only. He receives an email from Justin in the middle of the night:  _Sorry I didn't call today, work was insane and I spent all night at the studio. Talk tomorrow? I love you._ Brian stares at them, illuminated on his laptop screen, and feels awash with confusion. They seem diminished in this format. He picks up his phone and hits the speed dial for Justin's number. Justin picks up almost instantly, and after a long moment of silence, Brian says the words. Justin laughs, then teases, "You're turning into a total sap, aren't you?" Brian tells him to piss off, but he's laughing, too. They talk for an hour, and he spends half of that time staring at his laptop, at those three words spelt out plainly on the screen. They don't seem to be diminished, not anymore.

Justin is no stranger to the words. He's spoken them to Brian several times over the years, but sparingly. That's no longer the case. It's as though a dam has burst; he says it all the time, now. Brian can't complain. Soon, they're both submerged, but Brian doesn't think they'd have it any other way. So there they are - no going back now.

There's only moving forward. Moving to New York. Moving in together. Moving on in life, partnered to each other, more committed than ever before. Brian is surprised by how organically it comes, for the most part. Sometimes there are unsettling moments of dissonance where he looks at himself and is reminded of who he used to be. It's almost as though he's a stranger in his own skin. His former self haunts him, taunts him, reminds him that these words don't belong to him and that this life isn't his to lead, either. His former self is a fucking asshole. If it were up to him, Brian would be forced to pull away, break free, and run for his goddamned life. Brian refuses to let this happen. He seeks out Justin and holds him close, soaking up the infinite love that Justin offers ever so generously. He seeks out Gus, who is similarly full of affection - Brian calls him, writes to him, sends him gifts, invites him for visits, flies to Toronto to see him. He refuses to let his former self get in the way of what he could havpe with these two people. The two of them remind him how far he's come. They bring him back from the precipice of self-doubt (which could so easily mutate into self-destruction, he thinks), and make him feel familiar in his own skin again.

He and Justin return to Pittsburgh often. Kinnetik keeps him bounding back and forth between there and New York, and so do the family. Brian would never say as much, but he misses them. He knows Justin does, too, and so 'home' they go as frequently as possible. In between work and family, they return to their old haunts. Brian hears the whispers and sees the sideways glances. Rumours and slivers of gossip find their way back to him, and then to Justin, too. Brian's former self is outraged. Brian's present self is at a loss. The sense of dissonance returns full-force; he hears them saying his name, he hears them talking about him, but it all sounds so abstract and unfamiliar. Why is that? One night, cozied up in a relatively quiet corner of Woody's, Justin laughs drunkenly, "It's fun hearing about their version of Brian Kinney." Brian queries what he means and Justin leans in close and whispers, "There's the Brian Kinney of legend, and there's the Brian Kinney of flesh and blood. They only know the former. Pity, that. They're both wonderful, but the latter... the latter is the one I can't get enough of." Brian is speechless at first. It hits him slowly, but surely, how very meaningful this moment is. He has suspected for years that Justin sees him differently to everyone else, but here it is: spoken aloud, the way so many things should be. The words are gathered in his head, pleading to be let out. He grabs Justin, hauls him in as close as possible, and crushes their mouths together. Once he's successfully ravaged Justin to the point of delirium, he presses their foreheads together and whispers, "I love you."

He watches a smile spread like the sunrise over Justin's face, gleaming brightly and beautifully. Brian smiles back, feeling at one with this person in front of him, never more so than when Justin says back giddily, "I love you, too." 

The words never used to belong to him, but now here they are, burrowed under his skin, sunken into his bones, coded into his DNA. He can feel them lingering there, throbbing along with his pulse. He can see them lit up in Justin's warm gaze. He can hear them, whispering in the back of his mind, a constant current of unadulterated adoration for his perfect partner. He knows now that he will never stop speaking them, not as long as they're together, and if they're ever not... well, they'll probably stay with him, even then. They belong to him, after all. They belong to  _them._

Brian wouldn't have it any other way. Of that, he is completely sure.

**The End**


End file.
